


21st Century Medieval Romance

by thenewlondoner (muleumpyo)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Background Relationships, Community: hp_nextgen_fest, Harry Potter Next Generation, Kissing, M/M, Oxford, University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-01-23 04:31:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12498812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muleumpyo/pseuds/thenewlondoner
Summary: Hugo, medieval history nerd extraordinaire, did not expect to see Scorpius Malfoy, all-around pompous git, after Hogwarts at all, much less enrolled in the same course at university. So, of course, that’s exactly what happened.





	21st Century Medieval Romance

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to nerakrose for this fun prompt! I might have gotten slightly carried away. Also big big thanks to Jess for being a lovely beta reader (again) and all-around cheerleader these past couple of weeks. These precious nerds would not have been the same without your help and encouragement.

-

 

Despite what Lily claimed, there was not, in fact, anything wrong with "any class before 10AM-- Merlin's pants, Hugo, how can you stand learning before the sun has even risen?"

Getting up everyday at 7AM wasn't nearly as stressful as Lily thought it to be, nor as dark. There were benefits to be had from no longer living in the Scottish highlands, after all, one of them being able to enjoy more than a measly 7 hours of daylight in the winter. 

The early hour allowed Hugo enough time for a jog through Christ Church Meadows before the city had really woken and most of her students were still abed. He enjoyed the soft blue light turning into the pink of the dawn as the sun broke over the birch trees and made the pale stone of Oxford's spires glow. It was like coming awake in his body, feeling the thrum of his blood as he breathed in the fresh-cut scent of the grass, watching the golden spread of sunlight over the deep brown of his skin.

By the time he made it back to his room, he was fully awake and still had enough time for a quick shower. On the way to the lecture hall, he could stop at the cafe at the corner for a breakfast roll and latte.

There was no running to class, hair astray and robes in a mess, no untidy notes, no awkward grumbling of a stomach during an important pause in a lecturer’s speech. He always had enough time to pack his school bag, make sure he had everything he needed for the day, and check himself one last time in the mirror. Which meant by the time he took his seat in the lecture hall at 9AM, he was awake, well-fed, and ready for anything.

At least, ready for anything but what walked through the classroom door that morning, blond hair carefully slicked back, fitted black coat buttoned across a broad chest, silk tie perfectly knotted at a pale throat.

Hugo stared in disbelief as the only thing that could ruin his calm morning and had, in fact, done just that, stepped into the room and stopped. 

He was so tall his blond head seemed in danger of hitting the top of the doorframe though it did not, of course, cause him to stoop in the slightest. It was the posture of a dancer, or a posh twat. One long pale finger tapped the edge of his unfairly trendy glasses into place as he surveyed the open spaces.

Scorpius Malfoy.

The infamous Draco Malfoy's only son, wayward Albus's intimate Slytherin friend, Prefect and top-scorer on N.E.W.T.s, grudgingly beloved by the Hogwarts profs for his quiet work ethic and unflappable demeanor. Also the bane of Hugo's existence since fourth year, of whom the merest mention made an uncomfortable prickle of irritation rise over his shoulders and often caused the irresistible urge to snap the end of a quill off.

So yes, Scorpius Malfoy walked into the lecture hall that morning, long legs bringing him swiftly across the parquet floor with barely a sound, as if he had floated there instead of walked. With a dismissive sweep of his eyes over the half-empty lecture hall, he turned his back on Hugo and the rest without even the barest sense of acknowledgment. 

Hugo sat there, stock-still and concentration shattered, watching as Scorpius fluidly slid into a seat three seats to the left and two rows in front of Hugo. This put him directly in the front row, next to the lecturer’s stand.

Toffee-nosed arsehole.

Fully unaware of Hugo's eyes burning a hole into the back of his coiffed head, Scorpius took a slim silver computer out of his bag and arranged it on his desk next to his coffee. When he seemed satisfied with the arrangement, he leaned back in the chair, elegantly crossed his long legs, and took a sip of coffee, completely at ease.

It seemed he hadn't even noticed Hugo’s existence.

\--

Hugo dropped his bag carelessly on the stone floor of the dining hall, ignoring the ominous clatter of his computer and books inside. With a sigh, he fell onto the bench and buried his hands in the comforting mass of his hair. Digging his fingers into the curls, he only barely resisting knocking his throbbing forehead against the dining table, he was so exhausted.

"What's eating you?"

Hugo stared wordlessly at Lily, who was already halfway through her own dinner and who, at the look, shoved her plate towards him.

With a grateful sound, he started to devour the food. There really was little that couldn’t be at least a bit improved by fried potatoes and steak. He must have looked quite bad, because Lily only stole a bite of food from him once. 

When he had made it through half of the pile of goodness, he felt alive enough to say, "Guess who I saw today?"

Lily's brown eyes narrowed. "Your mum."

"No."

"My mum?"

"No.” Hugo raised an eyebrow. “Why would I see _your_ mum?"

"I dunno, you just have that look about you, like you've seen the depths of hell and they've stared straight back.” Lily shrugged, then propped her chin on her hand and seemed to think. 

With a snap of her fingers, she pointed at Hugo. “Alright, got it. It's that fit guy you ogled all through last year's Medieval Lit tutorial and his equally hot lover who we suspected existed but weren't sure of until now."

Hugo frowned. "What? No.” He remembered exactly who she was talking about. “Definitely not. You know we discovered Alan's a massive prig."

"And _what_ a terrible thing it was to learn that he was actually straight this whole time. We will never be fooled in such a way again!” Lily said fiercely, raising her glass. 

There was a moment of silence, then she took a calm sip of water. When Hugo still didn’t reply, she put her glass down and stared at him. “Alright, small fry, spit it out."

Hugo glared at her for the nickname, his mouth full of potato. Just because her brother had decided to call him that in _second year_ didn’t mean she still had to use it. He swallowed with some difficulty. "It's my new module. You know, ‘The Importance of the Supernatural Creature in 14th century French _Lais’_?"

Lily's face took on a look of deepest suffering. "The one that starts at arse-o-clock in the morning, you mean?"

Hugo gave her back a mocking version of her own look and she stuck her tongue out at him. "Yeah, that one.” At Lily’s expectant look, he took a deep breath and said, “It's... Scorpius Malfoy. He's in it."

There was a moment of silence as they just looked at each other.

Lily raised a delicate eyebrow. "Oh, dear," she said, though it didn't sound particularly sympathetic. "Not Scorpius Malfoy. However shall you survive?"

Hugo speared a bit of potato with his fork and pointed it at her. "Don't mock. Imagine if you had to share a class with… with…” he gestured around with his fork as he tried to think of who Lily hated the most. “Ah! Pietro Zabini."

With a flick of her hand, Lily tossed a sheaf of auburn hair over her shoulder and gave Hugo a sharp look, as if she were staring down another opponent on the Quidditch pitch. "I would _relish_ the chance to crush Zabini and his smug face with my extensive Potions knowledge again. 

“You know, I almost miss seeing that look on that tosser's face when I got an answer before him in Prewett's class. You know, when he looked about 5 seconds from murder?” A wistful expression crossed her face for a moment before she was back to business. “Anyway, I didn't realise you still thought about Scorpius Malfoy. Wasn't that thing in fourth year--?”

“ _Lily,_ ” Hugo said, a warning in his voice. 

Lily, in true Lily style, did not heed his warning. “What was it again? He tripped you-- no, nothing that juvenile. We were all in the Great Hall--”

“The Entrance Hall.”

“--and you were mad late for some reason--”

“I didn’t set my alarm.”

“--and you ran down the stairs, shoes untied--”

“I forgot about the trick step and fell.”

“--and your bag flew off into the middle of Entrance Hall, in front of half of the fifth years, dumped your books and notes everywhere, smashed an ink bottle all over your Potions book--”

“Transfiguration.”

“--and what did good old Scorpius Malfoy do?”

Hugo felt his stomach lurch at the memory. The Entrance Hall, ringing with the chatter and laughter of a bunch of Slytherin and Hufflepuff fifth years waiting outside the Divination classroom. And him running down the stairs to get to Care of Magical Creatures, so distracted by his tardiness he forgot to jump the trick step, the jarring feel of a misstep, his bag flying out of his hands and dumping everything he owned across the ground. 

And the silence that had followed, as he limped with as much dignity as he could towards his bag, painfully aware of all the eyes on him. Then as he knelt, trying to blink back rare tears that burned at his eyes. And finally, the echoing footsteps as one person broke off from the group and came over to where he was kneeling on the ground, gathering up his things as quickly as he could. 

Scorpius Malfoy had loomed over him in his long black robes, blond hair slicked back, looking down his pointed nose. 

“Weasley,” he had drawled in his condescending voice, looking for all the world like Hugo was some sort of bug he was about to crush with his needlessly polished shoe, “need any help?”

Like a lighted match dropped onto petrol, Hugo’s embarrassment had burst into anger. He had stood with whatever he had already gathered, clutched in his arms, and loudly told Scorpius to do something Hugo’s mother would have killed him for, had she been there to hear it. 

“Remember, we do not discuss--” _my most embarrassing moment,_ thought Hugo-- “that.” 

Lily made a little moue with her lips. “Fine. So Scorpius Malfoy has decided to grace you with his presence yet again. What are you so worried about?”

Hugo sputtered, caught off-guard. “I’m not _worried._ ”

Lily hummed disbelievingly, a sly smile turning up a corner of her lips. “What, then? You figure you’ll be overwhelmed by his beauty day after day in the confines of those stuffy History classrooms and realise he’s not really the posh wanker you thought?”

“What? No, of course not!” Hugo felt his cheeks burn at the thought and was thankful for the deep brown of his skin that it wasn't obvious. Trying to find something to do with his hands, he touched the corner of his glasses, pushing them back up his face. “I keep telling you, the History rooms were not built in the medieval era, and are not stuffy. You just don’t know that because you spend all your time in the BioMed labs.”

“At least they were built this century and have the modern plumbing to show for it,” Lily said and shrugged. With a sigh, she dragged the plate closer to herself and began to pick off whatever Hugo had left of her dinner. “So what is it? Afraid that he’ll show you up in front of your profs?”

“No. Like he knows anything more about Old French than I do,” Hugo scoffed, but it wasn’t as confident as he would have wanted. It wasn’t actually something he had considered in great detail until just that moment, and thought made a coil of anxiety tighten around his lungs. “Even with all those tutors his father probably hired for him. No one will be impressed if he… gets nine ‘Outstanding’ N.E.W.T.s again...” 

A beat of awkward silence stretched between them, the only sound the faraway clink of silverware and the muted conversations of the few other people in the hall. Lily didn't say a word, just looked at him, her dark eyes clear but not unkind. 

Hugo didn't want to think about it. He stuffed the piece of potato still on his fork into his mouth, chewing as he spoke. “Besides, it doesn’t matter. You know Worsley's class is rumoured to be the hardest.”

Lily murmured an assent and Hugo made himself sit up straight, take a deep breath. 

His father had always said, _Don't give up before the match even begins. If you've a rubbish Seeker, you'll still have your Chasers. And if your Chasers stink, there's still the Snitch._

Being the Head Strategy Coach for the Chudley Cannons meant his father had a load of experience with expectations of failure. For at least 10 years before he had gotten the job, the Cannons had been on a losing streak so solid they had nearly fired the whole squad twice. His father had been one of only three people to apply for an assistant coaching position and, despite being only a couple of years out of school, had gotten the job.

Hugo felt a little of the unease that had been plaguing him since morning, shift a bit. The Cannons were finally rising to the top of the league under the guidance of his father, which, perhaps perversely, gave him confidence. 

“There’s no guarantee he can get the top score, even with his father's help. It’s fine. Fine.” He punctuated each sentence by stabbing his fork into the table. Perhaps he was gripping it too hard, he wasn’t too sure. 

“That’s the spirit!”

“I can crush him too. I will."

Lily gently prised the fork from his hand and replaced it with a water glass. "That's sorted, then. Autumn term 2027 hereafter to be known as ‘Smash Scorpius Malfoy in every way possible term’,” she said and raised her water glass for a toast.

Hugo raised his glass and opened his mouth to agree, then paused. He caught the wicked glint that had reappeared in Lily’s eye. "Every academic way. _Not_ the other.”

"Sure,” Lily replied genially.

“The History rooms are not stuffy enough for me to forget he's a git."

“Okay.”

“And he’s probably straight. Not that it makes any difference to me. Because he is a git.”

“Whatever you say,” Lily said and clinked their glasses together. 

Hugo groaned and Lily took a triumphant sip of water.

\-- 

 

Hugo had a plan for the first seminar, and every one after that, and it involved ignoring Scorpius’ presence entirely. 

Instead, Hugo got to the History building early the next morning, as always, and to his surprise, someone was already waiting outside the seminar room. Immaculate, as always, long fingers _cradling_ (Hugo could not think of any word more apt) a slim leather-backed book as he leant a shoulder on the wood-paneled hallway, stood Scorpius Malfoy.

With his long black coat and wingtipped shoes, framed by the sharp arch of a medieval window, he looked straight out of a Brooks Brothers advert. Hugo, in his black jeans and thick wool cardigan, his collared shirt buttoned up to his neck, felt a bit underdressed, which he assumed was how many people felt around Scorpius. 

He also assumed that was the point.

Hugo gritted his teeth and half-considered turning and waiting around the corner, but at that precise moment, Scorpius looked over from his book and seemed to notice him. 

Sliding a finger in between the pages to keep place, Scorpius closed his book and stood up straight. There might have been a smirk curling at the corner of his lips, but it was hard to tell because Hugo was focussing all his energy on appearing calm.

“Hugo,” Scorpius said coolly, his voice soft as always but audible enough in the quiet hall. “Good morning.”

Guess they weren't pretending they didn't know each other's names, at least. 

Despite the lingering desire to turn back and find another spot to wait until class began, Hugo felt something of a smile, or at least the attempt at one, press up the corners of his mouth. He would be civil, and he would crush Scorpius into the ground with his superior knowledge at the same time. Put the past behind him, all that.

“G’morning,” he replied in an even a tone as possible, “Scorpius.”

Preempting any further discussion, Hugo strode over and and made himself comfortable leaning against the opposite wall, just far enough away from Scorpius that it would be awkward for him to try to continue a conversation, but not far enough to be rude, and pulled out his own book. He wasn't even sure what book it was for a moment, but just the sight of it was enough to have Scorpius turn back to his own book and leave Hugo, blessedly, alone. 

See, Lily, he could be civil. He really could.

With a jolt of awkward realisation, he saw he was holding his academic planner, not a book. Surreptitiously, he slid his hand until it covered the gold-stamped year on the front, and hoped Scorpius didn't notice. 

Only 15 minutes of agonizing silence to go. 

 

\--

The trouble with choosing to go to Wiglung College at Oxford University (instead of the more traditional St. Augustine's, which was in an even _more_ remote area of the Scottish highlands than Hogwarts, and rumored to be twice as cold, if you could believe it) meant for the first time Hugo was attending a school that was part-Muggle, part-wizard. They shared faculties and most lectures with Muggle students, used the school's extensive archives and expertise, but Wiglung Hall was strictly wizard-only.

The days of carrying a wand around, freely doing magic, Apparating-- really, anything that might raise eyebrows amongst the Muggles-- were over. The amount of rules and restrictions the Ministry imposed on magic use within the confines of Oxford were staggering. 

There were a few wizarding shops scattered throughout the city, many disguised as occult bookshops, New Age stores, and even one that doubled as a hipster organic market, but for the most part the wizard students lived as Muggles would. Nothing would tip a Muggle university student off that one was not normal more quickly than a lack of a mobile and laptop.

Besides, after seven years of scratching out essays with quills and letters taking weeks to arrive by owl, Hugo was ready to step into the modern age. Someone had invented the ballpoint pen for a reason and Hugo intended to never go back.

Pursuing a History degree, however, meant sharing lectures with Muggles and having wizard-only seminars. No matter Hugo's personal feelings on the matter. 

So he was, in fact, stuck with Scorpius Malfoy, Charlotte Fledgely-- a pale-faced Ravenclaw girl he recognized vaguely from school, and a French wizard named Marius Vo who seemed to have read the entire coursework’s worth of readings before term even began. 

Difficult though seventh year and N.E.W.T.s had been, it was nothing compared to this. At Hogwarts, Hugo could read the books, pay attention in class, and everything else would come easily after that. No professor at Hogwarts had ever really asked for the opinion of a student; all they had ever seemed to want were the facts.

During the first seminar they were all rather quiet whenever Dr. Worsley (as she preferred to be called) directed a question at them. Either Marius would immediately jump in with an answer, or they would sit for several long seconds in silence before one of them got up the courage to speak.

Finally Dr. Worsley brought the discussion around to the creatures of _Perlesvaus,_ something Hugo actually knew quite well outside of the suggested works for the course. He had read and reread the translated version when he was younger, and had even made it through the untranslated version a couple of months ago.

Hugo took a breath and checked his neatly ordered notes on the desk in front of him, though he already knew what he wanted to say. At a pause in the conversation, he jumped in. “Well, the creature most famous from that work was the Beast Glatisant, or the Questing Beast.” 

He looked up. Dr. Worsley gave him an encouraging nod, so he continued on more confidently. “In most other versions of the Arthurian myths, the descriptions include a snake head and body of a leopard, which make it sound as if a Muggle confused a Chimaera, perhaps the rear end of one, for some mythical beast, but _Perlesvaus_ has the Beast Glatisant as a small white fox. It's a big difference, but-”

“Do you really think a Muggle could face even the rear end of a Chimaera and live?” Scorpius cut in, his soft voice arresting Hugo's train of thought. 

Everyone looked over at Scorpius, who was leaning comfortably back in his chair, cheek propped up on his pale fingers. He had hardly spoken the entire seminar, and never to contradict anyone.

He shifted forward, eyes trained on Hugo. His bored voice came out a little louder, as if speaking to someone ignorant of the subject at hand. “They're a Class 5 Very Dangerous Beast, and only one wizard has successfully killed one before. A Muggle would be dead inside five seconds of seeing it.”

Hugo grit his teeth, feeling his hackles rise. Still, he tried to keep his response calm. “Er, maybe. Chimaeras don't always kill on-sight, though.”

“No?” Scorpius asked, sounding almost politely interested. 

Hugo stared at him. “No. They don't.” 

“And you know this because?”

“I got an ‘Outstanding’ on my Care of Magical Creatures N.E.W.T.”

“Indeed.” 

Amusement quirked up the corner of Scorpius’ lips and Hugo wondered if he could cast a silencing charm on his smug face before he could get another word out. Getting suspended in his first week at university wouldn’t be too bad, would it? He wondered if his father’s promise for extra presents if he bested ‘the Malfoy boy’ still stood, ten years later. 

“It’s just that, well, secondly, they're native to Greece, not France. And there hasn't been a documented case of Chimaera sighting west of Corfu…” Scorpius looked thoughtful, his long fingers tapping on the desk, “ever, I believe.” 

“Maybe this can be considered the first, then,” Hugo retorted, unable to tamp down all of the sarcasm in his voice. “Besides, that wasn't really my point.”

“Thank you for that aside, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Granger-Weasley,” Dr. Worsley cut in with a polite smile. “A discussion we can continue at a later time, perhaps.” 

Hugo felt his face grow hot, either with embarrassment or irritation, and was glad it was impossible to tell. Scorpius gave her a miniscule nod and settled back into his chair, looking unaffected again. 

She turned to address them all. “In _Perlesvaus,_ Percival comes across a small fox-like creature, which is described as being ‘white as snow, but for crimson markings on its forepaws and around its eyes,’ which he sees being eaten from inside by its own children. Religious attributions aside, I think we can take this as one of the first mentions of an _Animagus_ in the Early Middle Ages...”

Hugo sighed deeply. _That_ had been the point he had wanted to make. 

When the hour and a half was up, Hugo gratefully gathered up his books and left as quickly as he could, feeling relieved when he finally made it out into the bright English autumn. 

He took a breath of cool air, his hands brushing through the soft cloud of his hair. He was nearly sweating. It was as though he had spent the entire time he had been in the seminar room on edge, always expecting _someone_ to interrupt him again. 

He grumbled to himself and dropped his hands. With a sigh, he set off in the direction of the Bodleian Library, ready to forget it in the mass of readings they had just been assigned. If he was going to ensure Scorpius couldn’t undercut him again, he would need to get started now. 

\--

Thankfully, though they were in the same lecture and seminar for one module, Scorpius Malfoy was not in any of Hugo's other courses. He kept dreading running into him on campus or in passing in the city, but wherever he lived ("probably out of halls, posh wanker that he is," Lily suggested wisely) it wasn't anywhere near Hugo. 

When next Monday rolled around, Hugo was ready. He rose just as his alarm began to chime and did a quick circuit up the side of the River Cherwell. The overhanging boughs of the willows rustled with a breeze, the soft light of dawn glinting across the glassy surface of the water. 

The imagery itself was calming, but he couldn’t concentrate. With a burst of speed, he sprinted over the stone bridge and along the cobblestoned back lane to Wiglung Hall, feeling unexpectedly keyed up.

Unlike the previous week, he’d had time for extra research to complement the readings, and had a stack of notes already prepped for seminar. He had met his tutor over the weekend, a strict-looking wizard named Professor Otieno who had assigned yet another load of readings to his growing stack and told him to come back the next week with an essay.

Challenging as it was to be suddenly thrust into a new school, it gave Hugo a curious burst of energy to be learning something _new_ , something besides the dry recitation of dates for Professor Binns or the memorization of Potions ingredients for Professor Prewett. His chest heaved with quick, sharp breaths as imagined cutting in with a smart remark before Scorpius could even raise his hand.

Hugo wasn't much like his mother in many ways, but he imagined she'd understand the thrill it gave to be the first to raise a hand and _know_ you had the right answer. A challenge wasn't something to turn down out of hand, especially when it gave him the opportunity to look good in front of a professor he might want to work with in postgraduate studies. He might not have liked Scorpius, but that didn’t mean his presence had to be useless. 

A grin caught the edge of his lips; if he could just look at Scorpius as another challenge, well, then, today was just the beginning.

A quick shower later, he grabbed his bag and headed back out into the cool morning air. The sun was properly out now, setting the spires of the distant Camera and the sharp Gothic points of Christ Church awash with warmth, but the narrow lanes below were still cool with night. The high, ivy-clad walls closed Hugo in blue shadow as he wended his way to the main street, fresh coffee in hand. 

It was so quiet and calm that when a hand suddenly slammed on his back and someone threw themselves around his shoulders, Hugo stumbled and almost dropped his coffee.

“Hugo! Good morrow, cuz.”

The rapid beat of his heart still slamming in his ears, Hugo looked in dismay at the coffee now all over his arm and back up at the grinning face of Louis Weasley. 

“Morning, _cuz._ Have we entered a Shakespearean play?” he asked drily, shaking remnants of the spill from his his hand as Louis gripped him tighter and guided him up the street. 

“‘What ho! —You men, you _beasts_ ,” Louis began, voice booming through the stone alleyway. 

“Oh, no,” Hugo groaned.

Louis released Hugo so he could point imperiously down the lane, his walk suddenly becoming more stiff, quasi-regal. “That quench the fire of your pernicious rage with purple fountains issuing from your veins, on pain of _torture_ from those bloody hands, throw your mistempered weapons to the ground and hear the sentence of your movèd prince.’” 

He hit his fist on his puffed-out chest, his chin raised and red hair thrown back over his shoulders, then gave an expansive bow to the empty road. 

Hugo, impressed despite himself, hid his smile behind a grimace. “Brilliant.”

Louis straightened up, grin back in place as he pulled his wand from inside his jacket. “Let me get that for you,” he said and tapped Hugo's arm, the coffee disappearing and the cuff of Hugo's jumper returning to its original golden color.

“Thanks, but put that away,” Hugo said, looking significantly at the wand until Louis slipped it back out of sight. He turned and resumed his way, Louis falling into step beside him. “And _Romeo and Juliet,_ really? Are they teaching English drama at Beauxbatons now?”

“It’s not all Old French and the rise and fall of the Roman Empire, Hugo. Even us _pauvres etudiants_ have moved at least into the 17th century by now. And every Englishman should know his Shakespeare. It's the very _fabric_ of this country.”

A wry smile curled at Hugo's lips. “You're at least half a Frenchman, _au moins, mon loulou_.”

“ _Casse-toi!_ ” Louis elbowed him in the stomach and scowled, his pale features screwing up. For a moment he looked his proper age, a legal adult in the wizarding world but in reality a teenager just barely out of school. 

Louis pouted. “Only my mum gets to call me that. Besides, I had an audition for the Players a couple weeks ago, so I memorised anything I thought might impress them. Not sure _Romeo and Juliet_ was really what they were looking for, but why not give them a little culture?” he said lightly. “Where are you off to?” 

They had turned down the curving high street, busy with bundled up students on their bicycles and the occasional cab with curious tourists inside. As they turned again down a small side street, the squat stone shopfronts disappeared, to be replaced by a short hedge running almost the entire length of one side of the road. Louis ran a hand over the bordering hedge and peered through black wrought-iron posts to the manicured lawn and double-storied pale stone building behind. 

“Class,” Hugo said, tilting his head towards the building. “I've got a lecture and then I'm going to meet Lily for lunch at The Three Badgers. Want to tag along?”

Louis shrugged, following Hugo as he turned into the open gate and started up the gravel path into the quad. “Maybe. I’m supposed to be meeting my new _tutee_ today and I’ll see how eager he is to get started.” He pronounced the word like _too-tee_ , drawing the vowels long. “Knowing your lot, he’ll probably want to meet every night until he’s sucked my brain dry of all its French and I’m terribly rich but without a friend to share it with.”

“Terrifying,” Hugo replied flatly, and Louis wiggled his eyebrows until Hugo laughed. “Here’s to hoping he’s a lazy sod that doesn’t want to see you until exams are a week away.”

“Ta. I heard he took a gap year, so he very well might be,” Louis said and snatched Hugo’s drink from his hand, taking a sip. “To remaining a poor student forever.”

They made their way along the edge of the lawn to a low-set door set at the junction of two wings of the building. Hugo grabbed his drink back as Louis peered up at the Victorian facade. Set high in the golden-stone front was a huge, ornate clock framed on either side by columns and stacked over wide banks of leaded windows. 

When Hugo had told Lily the buildings he frequented hadn’t been built in the medieval era, he had been telling the truth, but in reality they weren’t much better. 

When he stepped into the marble-floored main hall, he realised that Louis was still following him. Hugo frowned. “Where exactly are you going?”

Louis looked back at him, confused. “To meet my student.”

“Right,” Hugo replied slowly.

A sense of foreboding fell over Hugo as they both started up the main stairs, and worsened as they both turned down the same corridor towards the same lecture hall. It was still 15 minutes to 9AM and the large oak door had been propped open. Quiet chatter from inside indicated a couple of people had already arrived. 

Louis looked at the numbered plaque and settled himself against the wall, giving Hugo a curious glance when he didn’t enter. Hugo knew he should go inside and get ready, but an odd feeling stuck him in place. He scuffed one foot on the floor, the certainty of his suspicions becoming clear. It had been a joke before, but now he wasn’t so sure.

Hugo stared at Louis for a moment, then asked, “Who are you meeting?” 

Louis had a curiously blank look on his face. “I told you--”

“Is it Scorpius Malfoy?” Hugo blurted out, and felt his hands tighten around the leather strap of his bag. 

Louis paused.

“Are you to tutor him in Old French? _L’Ancien Français_?” 

The corner of Louis’s lip quirked up and he raised his eyebrows. “Caught me.”

A wave of irrational annoyance rose through Hugo so quickly he was sure it was almost visible. But he had managed to keep his personal issue with Scorpius Malfoy from the awareness from everyone for the entirety of his school career, and Louis hadn’t even attended Hogwarts. There was really no reason to get him involved. 

He kept his voice very steady when he asked, “Louis, why are you helping Scorpius Malfoy?”

Louis tapped his chin mock-thoughtfully. “Well, you see, he pays me. Money. So I can buy things. Shakespeare may be brilliant food for the mind, but it isn’t much for the stomach.”

“Yes, I know. I understand that,” Hugo said, trying to think of how to ask the question without asking it directly. Ah, fuck it. “But why are you helping _him?_ ”

Louis shrugged, slouching back on the wood-panelled wall. “He asked, I answered. Unlike all the years I taught you what I was learning, he is actually going to pay me for my great language skills and _delightful_ presence. More than I can say about some others, hmm?” 

At Hugo’s unimpressed look, Louis continued in a more serious tone, “You know, I don’t understand your family’s obsession with that family, it’s frankly a bit--hmm.”

“It’s a bit what?” Hugo asked, slightly affronted. “What about my family?”

Louis straightened and looked at Hugo with wide blue eyes. It made him look disconcertingly innocent. “I just mean, do you really not like him just because of who his father is? And what happened during the war?”

Hugo frowned, a bit thrown. “Sorry? Who his father-- what?”

“It’s just that papa told me that your father, and especially your mum--,” Louis began, but he cut himself off as footsteps approached them.

Hugo turned and saw Scorpius himself striding up the corridor. An expensive-looking bag swung from one shoulder and he was wearing a different slim-cut suit, this time in charcoal. His glasses glinted in the sunlight filtering through the bank of windows, and the warm morning light pouring over his blond hair and pale skin made him look less like a perpetual vampire, though, as Hugo reminded himself, not less like a perpetual posh git.

“Again with the suit,” Hugo muttered under his breath. “Why can't he ever look like a normal person?”

Scorpius raised a hand, perhaps to adjust his glasses or to keep that expertly-styled hair in place, but Hugo just turned and gave Louis one last pointed glance before he ducked into the lecture hall. 

As he took a seat, Hugo tried to ignore the discomfort Louis’ words had sparked. It really had nothing to do with the fabled animosity between Weasleys and Malfoys-- if it made Louis feel any better, Hugo could tell him he disliked Scorpius on all his own merits. 

He glared down at his beloved Docs, which were extremely comfortable but mucked up all over and wanted nothing more than to scuff up Scorpius’ prohibitively expensive wingtips.

\--

This time, Hugo waited the longest he possibly could before setting off for the week’s seminar. He hadn’t got coffee, which was slightly irritating, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made in the name of the greater good. Even so, his usual penchant for punctuality got him to the room a few minutes before time.

Charlotte Fledgley and Marius Vo had already chosen seats flanking a chair that, judging from the cardigan thrown over the back of it, was already reserved for Dr. Worsley. That left two seats next to each other in the circle, for him and Scorpius. Last week they had been on opposite sides of the circle, but short of summoning a mysterious fifth student to join them, they were stuck next to each other.

“Brilliant,” Hugo muttered under his breath.

He nodded his hellos and put his bag next to a chair before dropping himself into it.

A minute later, Dr. Worsley swept in with a cheerful, “Good morning, everyone.” Her eyes lit on the one empty spot, but she didn't comment. She slid into her chair and peered around at the three of them.

“Any thoughts on _Chevrefoil_ or _Bisclavret_? Marie de France’s work predates most of the texts we'll be exploring this term, but a firm understanding of her work is crucial to--”

“Excuse me, ma’am. I apologise for being late,” a voice spoke from right next to Hugo, who barely caught his startled jump. 

Scorpius had appeared soundlessly at his side, a travel mug of coffee in one hand, his other holding a leather file folder against his chest. Though he loomed over Hugo in his black coat and tie, there was a bit of an awkward scrunch to his shoulders, as if he wasn't sure he'd be allowed to attend the class.

“We were just getting started, Mr. Malfoy. Take a seat. Alright, so as you know, Marie de France was a very powerful and influential witch in her time...” 

Hugo tried not to let his attention slide, but he was very aware as Scorpius slid into the seat next to him and let out a slow, long breath. His normally very pale cheeks had a low flush to them, a small but obvious brush of pink over his cheekbones. As he leaned over and started to arrange his things on the desk, Hugo could see a slight sheen of sweat on his brow.

Though he was nearly silent, Scorpius’ chest was rising and falling rather rapidly, as if he had-- was it possible that the always perfectly controlled Scorpius Malfoy had _run_ to class? 

Scorpius seemed to notice Hugo’s gaze, because he turned minutely in his direction, brow furrowing. His eyes caught Hugo’s and narrowed.

“What?” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

Hugo bit his lip around a smile. Perhaps the ridiculous restrictions on Apparition within college walls weren't as pointless as he'd thought. He drew two fingers over his temple, then wrinkled his nose and shifted, as if he were just scratching an itch.

At Scorpius’ suspicious look, he just shrugged and turned his full attention back to Dr. Worsley. From the corner of his eye he saw Scorpius very casually brush his fingers over his brow, his lips quirking down when he realised what had happened.

Today might actually be alright. He was prepared and Scorpius was perhaps less so, and even though the delicious smell of freshly-brewed coffee emanating from Scorpius’ travel mug made his mouth water, he reminded himself after the hour was up he wouldn't see Scorpius again for another week.

 _And_ he managed to get in some very good points about Marie de France’s personal interest in love potions and the curious incident whereupon the future Duchesse de Normandie, after an overnight stay in the local court in which young Marie was present, declared herself madly in love with the equerry and the two absconded into the night on what contemporary sources cited as ‘the ugliest horse one could imagine’ and modern critics recognised as a Kelpie leading them to their deaths. 

\-- 

For a few weeks, everything seemed to fall, perhaps gingerly, into a pattern. 

Hugo rose early and ran most mornings, across Folly’s Bridge and down to Iffley Lock, or over to the Isis and its secluded paths of willows, enjoying the soft tap of the barges against the wooden sides of the lock and the smell of breakfast cooking in the narrow boats making Hugo's stomach growl. 

As the days drew shorter and his coursework intensified, he abandoned the farther runs and just went round the softly-lit Christ Church Meadows or up and down the River Cherwell with its boats full of rowers, the coxswains’ barked commands echoing outwards into the purple gloom of dawn.

The days got colder, too, more quickly than perhaps he expected, but it was nothing compared to the constant rain and wind of autumn at Hogwarts. The double Muggle inventions of central heating and the espresso machine were blessings that Hugo thanked every day. Heating charms were all well and good for walking to and from class, but Hugo had never had a cappuccino as good as Gwendolyn’s at Hallowed Grounds Coffee, and every time he thought they had created his favorite pastry yet, they came out with yet another.

Most days he spent either in lecture, or in the library amongst the stacks, teetering on an ancient chair he had taken to calling ‘his’, trying to move books from the unread pile to the read and keep all the dates from moving around his head in confusing circles. 

Researching a subject that had both Muggle and wizarding sources seemed to mean double the amount of work sometimes, as he trawled through the 12 million Muggle manuscripts and books, then again through the 7 million wizarding scrolls and parchment, which, along with being held in a different area entirely, also lacked its own online catalogue, which meant time wasted on just locating what he was looking for. 

(And never again would he make the mistake of trying to _Accio_ a parchment to himself. The resulting avalanche had nearly crushed him and the girl helping him. He had apologised profusely but the poor postgrad, a tiny witch with perpetually messy hair and a terrifyingly quick wand, had given him such a thoroughly murderous glare he had scarpered while he still had use of his hands.)

Most nights he spent in his fourth floor single room at Wiglung Hall, trying to find more comfortable ways to read academic texts whilst lying down, or watching Muggle shows on his laptop, or trying out new hairstyles on himself as he made faces in the mirror. 

In the beginning of November, he, Lily and Louis wrapped up tight and went out into the fields to join the Muggles as they lit their bonfires for Guy Fawkes. The cold air filled with the crackle and snap of firecrackers and the raucous laughter of drunk students. When night had well and truly fallen, they conjured up a blanket and huddled together on the grass as the navy blue sky grew hazy with smoke from far-off fireworks. 

Considering, it wasn't going too badly at all. It was challenging but not overwhelming, he still remembered to eat most days and even went outside occasionally, perhaps more than he had done during N.E.W.T.s. He and Lily met up nearly every other day, with Louis at least once a week, he spent most seminars retorting to every comment Scorpius made as politely as possible, and he had slowly built up a friendly rapport with most of his classmates and professors. It was alright.

Which, of course, was when everything started to go sideways.

\--

The first problem was the chair. 

His chair, which was not actually his, as evinced by the presence of one Scorpius Malfoy lounging in its rickety embrace. 

It was Friday afternoon, the ultimate skive-off period and therefore when the library was quietest it would be all week. So when he climbed up the North staircase into Duke Humphrey’s Reading Room and saw Scorpius Malfoy sitting in _his_ chair, books propped open on the desk and screensaver flickering on the computer in front of him, Hugo stopped short. 

Then kept going, his footsteps even and his back straight, as if he had noticed nothing. With one hand pressed to the side of his face and head curled over a book, Scorpius didn’t even look up. 

Turning into the last niche between bookshelves, Hugo pulled his wand from inside his jacket and tapped it on the lower window, muttered _Pendle and Wendle, Nutters and Trembles_ , and was gratified when one section of the window melted away into a short, arched doorway with a flight of stone steps beyond. 

He climbed up the winding staircase into the wizarding archives, wrinkling his nose at the pervasive musty smell. The majority of the vaulted room was taken up with rows upon rows of oak bookshelves packed full of leather tomes and huge stacks of scrolls. The few windows that might have let any light into the room had been covered long ago to protect the books, but it left the hall gloomy and smelling like it hadn’t been aired out in 500 years. There was a reason most wizarding students grabbed what they needed and headed down into the airier reading rooms below.

A few ancient oak tables were pushed against the stone walls, all empty. Hugo was just heading over to one underneath a huge banner emblazoned with the ancient insignia of the _Leornungcnihtas Ferscipe þá Galdorgalend_ (a humorously bad rendering of a lion by an artist who had clearly never seen one, standing on its hind legs and holding a huge shield) when there was the decisive shuffle of parchment coming from the help desk in front of the archives.

With a feeling of foreboding, he looked over. The postgraduate witch he had nearly drowned with an avalanche of papers was standing behind the help desk, staring at him. 

She straightened her stack of parchment and laid it carefully on the desk, eyes on him the entire time.

With an awkward smile, Hugo turned on his heel and walked swiftly to the exit. He'd rather take hours with Scorpius than try to study with her eyes burning a hole into his shoulder. As he dropped his bag on the only other free table, Scorpius finally looked up. 

A flash of surprise registered on his face, before it was replaced with a blank look. “Hugo.”

Hugo tried to match Scorpius’ perpetually dry tone. “Scorpius.”

And then he sat. 

It was actually quiet for the most part, with only the occasional _tip-tap_ as Scorpius typed softly on his computer or a rustle as Hugo stood to pick up another book. Though he thought it would be uncomfortable, after awhile, he settled in and mostly forgot Scorpius was even there. 

“Hugo.”

“What?” he replied automatically. 

“ _Hugo._ ”

Hugo looked up, his mind still 500 years in the past with the medieval Lancelot du Lac facing off on the plains of Brittany against a monster that sounded suspiciously like an actual Welsh Green dragon. 

Scorpius was standing next to his table, looking down his nose at Hugo. His black coat, buttoned up to his neck, looked almost like standard Hogwarts robes. For a moment, Hugo forgot where they were, the darkened library falling away from them and the familiar stone Entrance Hall of Hogwarts closing tightly in. A spark of anxiety, sharpened by déjà vu, arrowed through his chest. 

Hugo blinked and shifted back. _That was years ago,_ he reminded himself. Trying to hide his expression, he pushed his glasses up from where they had slipped down his nose. 

It had grown considerably darker outside the warm circle of light spread by the chandeliers above, Hugo realised with a measure of surprise. The leaded glass of the library windows had turned black with nightfall, and all around a strange level of hush had spread through the library. 

“They’re about to close,” Scorpius said. He shifted his bag over his shoulder and pushed his hands into the pocket of his long coat. “It’s nearly ten to 7.”

“Really?” Hugo sat up with a start and knocked a stack of books from the table. Cursing quietly, he ducked under the table and started piling them into his arms.

The librarians in charge of the Bodleian were legendary in their punctuality, even more so than what Hugo remembered of his mum’s horror stories about Hogwart’s old librarian, Madam Pince. He had amassed quite a pile of books over the course of the afternoon, and he didn’t remember where half of them had even come from.

He gathered the first bundle into his arms and rushed off through the stacks, cursing the intense focus that occasionally made him forget where he was, or how much time had passed. It was difficult to find the correct spot for each book, given that most of the tomes were quite old, so old the gold-stamped titles and authors names had flaked off their fragile leather spines. 

When he finally managed to find spots for the first batch, he hurried back to his desk, only to find most of the books gone. 

“What?” he muttered loudly to himself, striding up to the desk and staring at where the books had been stacked. Anxiety welled up in him, wrapping cold fingers around his lungs and slowly squeezing. The librarians were going to _kill_ him. “Did they grow some bloody legs?”

“I put some away for you,” Scorpius said from behind him. 

Hugo spun around, surprise impossible to hide on his face. “You-?” he started. 

“Me,” Scorpius replied, but he didn’t seem bothered. He simply shrugged and picked up a couple more books before heading off through the stacks. Taken aback by this development, it took Hugo another second to remember what he was also supposed to be in the middle of doing. 

It felt truly bizarre to be putting books away with Scorpius Malfoy. A small part of him felt grateful for the help, but another, larger part of him was flicking quickly through Scorpius’ motives. To be superior? Because he thought Hugo looked pathetic? He just really loved books?

Nothing seemed to fit, except for perhaps the last, and that was hardly a reason at all.

Hugo wedged the final pair of books back into their spot and hurried to gather his bag and coat. He was just wrapping his scarf around his neck when Scorpius appeared through the stacks, gloves on, black coat collar turned up against the pale skin of his cheeks. 

“Alright?” Scorpius asked. “All done?”

Hugo nodded. 

They left the room and headed down the now-darkened stairwell, footsteps echoing through the gloom of the empty library. It was strange having Scorpius walking silently next to him-- he was quite a bit taller than Hugo, and his legs must have been quite a bit longer, but Scorpius kept pace with him through the courtyard and out to the pavement. 

They paused as one at the kerb. Hugo stuffed his cold hands into the pockets of his nubby wool coat as he looked up the curve of the darkened road. Scorpius slowly adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder. Were they waiting for something?

Another moment passed before they looked at each other. 

“Erm, thanks,” Hugo heard himself say. “For the help.”

Scorpius just gave a small shrug, his voice very quiet when he responded. “Anytime.”

 _Anytime?_ Hugo thought, feeling more and more disconcerted. 

“Yes, well, I’m heading this way,” he said, pointing over his shoulder. “See-- see you later.”

Scorpius smiled slightly, the golden cast of the street lamp limning his features in warm tones. Hugo didn’t think he had ever seen Scorpius look so _nice_. It was bizarre. 

“See you.”

\--

He didn’t think that they really would. See each other later, that is. There was the unavoidable weekly lecture and seminar, but they had gone at least the first four weeks of term without running into each other outside of those times, and he didn’t expect that to change.

Or to change so quickly. 

But the following Monday he walked into Hallowed Grounds Coffee, not fully awake because of an unusually late study session, despite a vigorous circuit of the Grounds. Perhaps the last thing he expected, let alone _wanted_ was to see Scorpius Malfoy, about whom his thoughts had spun rather confusingly around for the 48 hours previous, standing in his favorite coffee shop.

And yet who else would be leaning on the counter by the espresso machine but the man himself, chatting quietly with Gwendolyn as she steamed milk and pulled shots. Of course this morning was the morning he would be here, in his navy blue suit and perfect Windsor knot, while Hugo, despite being freshly showered and in his favorite Fair Isle jumper, felt like he’d like nothing better than to go straight back to his room and faceplant into his bed. 

Instead, he forged ahead and ordered his usual from the girl behind the register, throwing in an extra shot and two croissants. He hoped the combination would put him in the right frame of mind to be lectured at for two hours when that was approximately how many hours of sleep he had gotten.

Scorpius was still leaning casually against the counter when Hugo walked up. He even looked over and gave an almost-friendly ‘hello.’

“Hi,” Hugo replied, then pushed a bit of croissant into his mouth so he didn’t have to say any more.

Hugo hadn’t been able to land on a satisfactory answer for Scorpius’ actions in the library. He wasn’t sure how to deal with the potential for a less than condescending version of Scorpius suddenly making itself known in his life. 

Thankfully, Scorpius soon accepted his coffee from Gwendolyn with a smile and a ‘See you tomorrow’ that Gwendolyn returned.

“See you in a bit, Hugo.”

Hugo made a muffled reply into his croissant. Amusement tilted up the corner of Scorpius’ lips, and Hugo couldn’t tell if it was meant to be patronising or not. 

As soon as he had disappeared out the door, Hugo turned to Gwendolyn, feeling almost betrayed. “You know him?” 

“He's been in a couple times a week since term began. I'm surprised you haven't seen each other more! He's nice, right?”

She turned to grab a new jug of milk, so she missed the doubtful expression on Hugo’s face. As she filled the steaming carafe, she continued, “Doesn’t look it most times, with that face of his, but he can really fool you.”

Hugo hummed noncommittally and stuffed a bit more croissant into his mouth, thinking that it really could go both ways. There was Old Scorpius, with whose superior arse Hugo already knew how to deal, and New Scorpius, who was polite, and did things like smile at people, but Hugo wasn’t sure was even _real_. 

It was quite a bit for a Monday morning.

Maybe Real Scorpius was actually there in the Outer Hebrides with Al, up to his knees in mooncalf muck or scraping dry rot from dragon scales, or whatever exactly it was that Al did at the Newt Scamander Memorial Magical Creature Sanctuary that was not, as his cousin had very exasperatedly assured him in his latest letter, “anything to do with Chimaeras, I’m sorry, Hugo. They all live in Greece, or something.”

\--

“What do you know about Scorpius, Lily?”

Lily, who was sprawled across Hugo’s bed, nearly invisible under two medical textbooks, one ancient tome labeled Palliative Potions Vol. 7, and notes from all the lectures of the past week, didn't even look over. “S’got a massive cock.”

“What?” Hugo sputtered, nearly dropping his tea all over his ‘Century of the Ghost: Death and the Supernatural in the 1300s’ notes. “No, he doesn't.”

Lily laughed, looking over her shoulder at Hugo. “How do _you_ know?"

"I don’t!” 

“Well that was the rumor going around the girls’ dormitory fifth year, if you must know.”

Hugo felt like he was going to choke. “And? Do you know anything true?”

“ _And_ I, like everyone else in the known universe, know just as much about Scorpius Malfoy as the next girl,” Lily replied flatly, “which is nothing.”

Hugo felt a twinge of disappointment. “You know nothing at all? Weren't you two in the same house for six years?”

Lily sighed. “Yes, and I kept well enough away from him as he did from everyone else. I’d be hard pressed to find a girl who had exchanged maybe more than a few sentences with him. You'd do better to ask Al, they were practically one person first through third year, then upgraded to maybe a person and a half until they left Hogwarts.” 

Hugo had thought about writing another letter to his cousin, but sometimes trying to get a straight answer out of Albus was akin to pulling the teeth of a Norwegian Ridgeback or questioning a Sphinx. Besides, what was he to ask?

_Dear Al,_

_Hope your colony of Doxies is growing nicely. Is your friend Scorpius Malfoy nice or an arse? Trying to figure out whether or not to talk to him. Write back soon._

_-Hugo_

That would go over beautifully, that would. So far he’d managed to keep everyone but Lily apprised of his distinctly unfriendly views of Scorpius. Though it was possible Scorpius could have told Albus about their altercation years ago, Hugo doubted it. Albus was about as subtle as a brick. 

Lily rolled over, dislodging a finely-balanced system of books and paper in an avalanche that cascaded all over the floor. She groaned in its general direction then settled her chin on her hand, looking bored. “Anyway, all I’ve ever heard about him is: he's quiet, very serious, always gets top marks, blah blah blah. Stuff that you know. If he wasn't the _famous_ Draco Malfoy's only son he'd have honestly faded into the brickwork already. But since he is, he's so ‘mysterious, and smart,’-- _not_ that you'd ever know it looking at him, it’s just because he barely seems to speak-- and ‘he's so fit, and tall, _ooh_ ,’ all the girls fancied him at some point.”

“Confessing your love, are you, Lily?” Hugo joked, though something uncomfortable churned in his stomach at the idea. “When was your Scorpius phase?”

“End of my third year, when I still thought I only liked boys and was really into that quiet broody crap,” she said without a hint of embarrassment. “Then I think Al told me Scorpius really liked Fizzing Whizbees or something, which completely ruined it for me.”

Hugo blinked, trying to imagine a younger Scorpius eating one of the blue sweets and keeping a very serious face on as he floated several inches above the ground. He could see why it might ruin the fantasy.

She narrowed her dark eyes at him. “I'm assuming your phase is about to start now?”

“No! It's nothing. I'm just curious." 

At Lily's disbelieving look, he insisted, “It's not a phase!”

“It most certainly isn't,” Lily said primly, and rolled back to her original position. She picked up a new set of notes with a sigh. “I'm sure you'll manage to make it into a proper bloody life choice.”

\--

He was given a break from thinking too deeply about it until the Tuesday after, which was marked by yet another tense seminar, because even though Scorpius was politely acknowledging his presence in real life, he couldn’t seem to resist breaking down whatever argument Hugo was trying to make in class, to Hugo’s great irritation. 

Hugo did a quick stop at Tesco for a sandwich before plunging into the depths of the Bods for the afternoon. He had just made himself comfortable in his chair in the reading room when Scorpius walked in.

Scorpius didn’t even try to find somewhere else to sit, just nodded at Hugo and headed straight to a spot opposite him, placing his bag down and pulling his coat off with an elegant swish. As Hugo stared, he arranged it carefully over the back of the chair, before he sat and started to pull his notes and laptop from his bag. It was only then that he seemed to realise Hugo was watching him.

The corner of Scorpius’ laptop hit the oak tabletop with a thump. 

Hugo might have been imagining things, but he almost looked a little embarrassed. Scorpius hurriedly put his computer down and arranged his leather file folder next to it, then his mobile. Finally, he pulled a rather expensive-looking pen from the depths of his bag and placed it parallel to his mobile, all of his things forming a neat line, biggest to smallest.

It was like watching _Mating Habits for the Incredibly Posh_. Hugo half-expected David Attenborough to begin narrating softly in the background. He wondered why the idea amused him so much. 

“Excuse me,” Scorpius said. He abruptly stood and strode off into the stacks, looking very stiff in his fine wool suit and silk tie. 

As soon as the echo of his footsteps ensured he was far enough away, Hugo leaned over his table and peered at the pen. 

“MontBlanc,” Hugo muttered to himself. “Why am I even surprised? Just going to casually whip out my £400 pen for an afternoon of revision, alright?” It even had a small serpent curled around its top, ruby eyes glimmering in the overhead light. 

It was ridiculous, and over-the-top. Even so, Hugo felt a smile pressing at the corners of his lips, and he shook his head. 

\--

If he thought it couldn't get more bizarre, he was wrong. 

On Thursday afternoon, as he was standing in the biscuit section of Sainsbury’s, holding two nearly identical packages of HobNobs up to his face as he tried to decide if it was worth it to buy McVities or if Sainsbury’s Basics would be enough to temper the truly terrible taste of the Wiglung Hall tea, he looked up and saw Scorpius peering at a shelf of crisps packets at the other end of the aisle. 

He was holding a bright orange basket on one arm, looking truly out of place in his black cashmere coat and slicked-back blond hair, as if he had never been in a Sainsbury’s before in his life. Before Hugo could even consider saying hello, he had turned on his heel and disappeared around the corner, crisps packet in hand, like an apparition he’d glimpsed from the corner of his eye.

Lily, when he told her about seeing Scorpius _again_ , for the third time that week, just leaned in and asked, very seriously:

“What kind of crisps did he buy, Hugo?”

Hugo raised an eyebrow as he tried to remember. He wasn't quite sure how it was relevant. “Monster Munch, I think.”

Lily nodded sagely and went back to her massive piles of notes. “Crap taste in crisps, that's definitely Scorpius.”

“I thought you said you didn't know anything about him.”

“A girl has a feeling, sometimes. You just know.”

\--

The next time Hugo saw Scorpius, it was on his early Saturday morning run.

(“Blasphemy, Hugo!” Lily always hissed whenever he mentioned it. “Saturdays are for _resting._ ”

“Traditionally, I think that’s actually Sunday,” he would retort with a laugh, then duck whatever writing implement she chucked playfully at him.)

He was done with a lazy loop of the River Cherwell, down to Iffley Lock and nearly back up to Folly’s Bridge when he saw a familiar blond head in front of him on the path. 

He blinked several times before slowing to a walk, sure he was mistaken. But it was clearly Scorpius, in a well-cut, dark green quilted jacket, a big black scarf wrapped around his neck, and wearing dark blue _jeans_. Tailored jeans, a top-shelf jacket, and the scarf probably made from the wool of a magical sheep that appeared only every 20 years on the night of the new moon, but still. It was the most casual he had seen Scorpius, _ever_. He honestly hadn’t even thought that Scorpius would own jeans.

But perhaps the strangest part was that Scorpius was walking slowly down the wide river path, holding the leash of and trailing behind the cutest white puff of a dog. As Hugo watched, Scorpius paused as the little dog sniffed interestedly at a clump of weeds poking through the stones, then pulled it gently along.

“What,” Hugo whispered, “is happening right now?” 

For another minute, he trailed after Scorpius and the little dog, torn between taking the soonest exit from the trail and following the odd pair until their paths diverged for real. Shaking his head, he knew what he had to do, and it didn’t include creepily following Scorpius around, tempting though it was.

He jogged up the path, wondering if the early hour was impacting his judgment, if that was why he was considering this. “Scorpius!” he called, and when the other boy turned, he raised a hand. 

The expression on Scorpius’ face was well worth whatever embarrassment Hugo might have felt. He raised a gloved hand in response, but looked like he wanted nothing more than to Disapparate on the spot. By the time Hugo made it up next to him, he had set his jaw and was looking at Hugo almost challengingly, cheeks tinged pink.

“Hi,” Hugo said with a grin. 

“Good morning,” Scorpius replied stiffly.

Hugo looked down at the little white dog, who was looking up at him with a wagging tail and interested brown eyes. “Hello, there,” he said with perhaps more enthusiasm than he had greeted Scorpius. 

He put out a hand and the dog immediately jumped up and tried to lick it. “Aww,” he cooed, kneeling and rubbing over the smooth fur of its head as it jumped excitedly over him. It even had long, silky ears and a tail that waved back and forth like a flag.

It was, quite frankly, one of the cutest dogs he had ever seen.

“What kind of dog are you?” Hugo asked, laughing when the dog rolled on the ground and showed him its little pink belly. “You're not a big hunting dog.”

“She's a Maltese,” Scorpius informed him, looking a bit put out that his dog had so clearly taken to someone else. “Napoleon had the same dog.”

“Wow, you're so fancy,” Hugo cooed as he rubbed over the dog’s soft underbelly and she wiggled her little feet at him. He heard Scorpius’ scoff but ignored him. It really was unfair Scorpius had such a cute dog. “What’s your name?”

“Her name is Nimbus.” Scorpius had lost the set in his jaw but looked incredibly awkward, as if still contemplating Disapparating away. Figures he’d give a tiny dog such a fancy name, though Hugo couldn’t deny it suited her.

“Aww, Nimbus, you’re such a cute little puff,” Hugo said, chuckling when Nimbus bounced up excitedly at the sound of her name. He patted his thighs and she jumped up onto his lap, trying to lick his face. “You named your dog after a type of cloud formation?”

“I named her after a type of racing broom, actually,” Scorpius replied. He whistled softly and Nimbus whirled around to jump on him, looking incredibly satisfied when her master bent down and scratched her softly behind the ears. “And because she pees everywhere.”

At Hugo’s confused look, he continued, the pink of his cheeks deepening slightly. “Nimbus clouds are just ones that produce precipitation. So, you know…” he waved, unable to finish.

Hugo actually laughed, half at the explanation and half at the look Scorpius made as he gave it. Trust Scorpius Malfoy to give his dog a name that sounded posh and serious but was, in fact, nothing to do with either. 

Hugo stood, brushing dirt from the knees from his track pants and still grinning. Scorpius was just staring at him as if he couldn’t believe he had just told anyone that. 

“That’s adorable,” Hugo said, fully sincere. “Honestly.”

Scorpius didn’t seem aware of how to respond to that, though his face was now a rather incredible shade of red. 

Hugo wondered if anyone had ever called Scorpius ‘adorable’ in his entire life. The struggle Scorpius seemed to be going through to control his expression seemed to point to ‘no.’ 

“Thanks,” Scorpius finally mumbled, before letting Nimbus begin to pull him down the path again. 

After a second, Hugo fell into step beside him. As they meandered down the riverside path, he kept shooting glances at Scorpius’ profile. Probably because he expected never to see such a sight again, the usually unflappable Scorpius Malfoy embarrassed over a compliment, no less.

Scorpius was still a bit stiff beside him, but it seemed more awkwardness than anything. The blush had softened the aristocratic cut of Scorpius’ cheekbones, and made his normal look of bored superiority-- that he was still trying to regain, with limited success-- seem like something he used just to cover his embarrassment. 

Though their paths split only a couple of minutes later, Hugo felt the trace of a smile on his face the rest of the morning.

\--

That was when his life slipped into a very slightly different pattern. Hugo didn't really change any of his usual routines, but it was as if two realities that had been operating just a hair t0 the left and the right of each other had suddenly come into focus together. 

He saw Scorpius at the coffee shop Mondays and Thursdays, found himself revising with him after their shared seminar on Tuesdays, and ran into him the next two Saturdays (he didn't change his running schedule because he thought he'd see Scorpius, it was all about the puffy white dog), and none of it was terrible. 

Once he let himself relax into the new concept that Scorpius, with his quiet study habits, secretly strange taste in crisps, and actual terrible ability to take any compliment that implied that he or anything he owned was ‘cute’, was not about to revert to his superior arse ways, things were actually nice. 

Scorpius had a perfectly dry sense of humour, and was quick to respond to any of Hugo’s comments with a smart retort of his own. And though normally his face looked like a sculpture some Greek artist might have carved, right down to the distinguished cut of his jaw and his perfect immobility at times when he wanted to hide his thoughts, he was gloriously easy to disarm with a joke. It was a secret Hugo had discovered which he took every opportunity to exploit. 

Scorpius, with his cheeks pinked and eyes warm with surprised laughter, was very compelling, perhaps more than was safe for Hugo’s existence.

Hugo tried not to think too much about this new development, but as usual, the more he tried to keep himself from doing something, the more his mind seemed to meld to the idea with a Permanent Sticking Charm. 

“Stop thinking about it,” he whispered to himself as he arranged their study materials on their shared desk at the Bods’ reading room. Scorpius had disappeared up into the wizarding archives to request a book for Hugo because it was Friday, which meant Cassandra, postgraduate witch with whom Hugo had accidentally entered a cold war, was in charge of the archives desk. 

“Objectively, he’s attractive,” Hugo muttered, tapping his pen on his notebook distractedly, and tried to give a disaffected shrug. “As a completely objective observer, with no opinion of my own, I can say that he is good-looking. Handsome, even.” 

He drummed even more quickly with the pen as he felt his face flush with heat and he knew he was lying. Objectively good-looking people didn’t distract him the way Scorpius seemed to, with his endearing habit of typing with only his first two fingers, or the way his hair fell out of its perfectly gelled style always somewhere around the fourth hour of revision, and needed to be constantly pushed out of place by long fingers.

“Handsome, yes. Does it matter? No.” Hugo screwed up his face just as Scorpius appeared through the stacks, his arms wrapped around some obscenely heavy book. 

He dropped it onto the desk in front of Hugo with a huff of air and gave him a smirk. 

“You’re welcome,” Scorpius said, before sliding elegantly into his seat.

 _Yes,_ Hugo thought involuntarily. And then, a second later: _Fuck_.

That didn’t mean Hugo was about to let Scorpius get away with any attempt to undermine his argument in front of their profs, though. No matter how closely they seemed to align their readings, their responses were always significantly different, and just because Hugo had admitted to himself he thought Scorpius was fit didn’t mean anything had to change. 

Hugo snorted, perhaps a bit dramatically, but it was what Scorpius’ theory deserved. “I don’t think you can claim Macaire’s husband was a wizard and the dog that waited patiently beside his murdered body for three days was a Crup--”

“Why else would it so aggressively attack his murderers when they came back to bury his body?” Scorpius shot back, challenge glimmering in his eyes.

“Are you telling me that Plutarch, who wrote the original version of this story, was writing about a wizard too?”

“Plutarch might have done, but the dog-creature in _Macaire_ has all the hallmarks of a Crup, the terrier body, the clipped tail, an aggression to Muggles--”

“How d’you know Macaire’s husband’s murderers weren't wizards too?” Hugo replied, invigorated rather than annoyed by the argument. “Some dogs are just extremely loyal-- wouldn't you know that?” 

Scorpius sniffed, looking offended that Hugo would imply Nimbus would try to attack his killers. “Most dogs would _never_.”

“I'm sorry you've never met a dog that was willing to avenge your murder. I'd probably raise myself up from the dead just to watch it, myself.”

“Of course you would,” Scorpius replied, but it came out amused rather than insulting. His grey eyes crinkled at the corners, belying the good nature hiding behind his default serious expression. 

It was something that Hugo hadn’t really noticed he liked before: the thrill of a good debate, the other person knowing what they were talking about and willing to give as good as they got. Lily was smart, but she didn’t care about most of the obscure history Hugo was interested in, and most of his cousins (indeed, most of his classmates) had found History of Magic useful for nothing but napping.

Scorpius, however, knew just as much about 12th century _chanson de geste_ or 14th century Breton _lais_ as he did, and always had a ready argument. It was a challenge to try and find something Scorpius didn’t know, and even though it occasionally meant more time digging through the stacks for likely-looking texts, elbowing a closely-trailing Scorpius whenever he tried to use his height to read over Hugo’s shoulder or distracting him with a meaningless argument long enough to snatch the book back, it was refreshing to have someone to debate with.

Dr. Worsley cleared her throat and drew the discussion around to the other possible descriptions of magical creatures masquerading as Muggle-recognized pets. A ready grin already waiting, Hugo looked over and caught Scorpius’ eye. 

Scorpius raised an eyebrow. The mid-morning light streaming through the classroom’s windows softened the sharp lines of his suit and illuminated a small smile at the corner of his lips. For a moment, he looked soft, entirely at ease. Like he was happy just because Hugo was there. 

Hugo felt his heart stutter slightly, then speed up. For a second his gaze dipped down to the curve of Scorpius’ mouth. He imagined leaning over and softly kissing the smile hiding at the corner of Scorpius’ lips, the quiet sound of Scorpius’ breath and the smooth press of their cheeks against each other. His throat caught at the swell of unexpected longing that surged through him. 

_Oh, shit._

\--

After seminar let out, Hugo was standing frozen on the front steps when Scorpius emerged and clasped one gloved hand on his shoulder. Hugo nearly jumped. When he turned, Scorpius was looking at him with a confused quirk to his brow. 

“Lunch?” he asked, briefly squeezing Hugo’s shoulder.

Hugo nodded absently, brain still working overtime to process this development. Scorpius’ hand was large and warm, and even the slight pressure of it on his shoulder was enough to send warmth cascading through Hugo’s chest. 

Scorpius directed him down the stairs with a touch, then stuffed both of his hands into the pockets of his coat. Their shoulders bumped softly as they turned out onto the street. 

Scorpius was talking about something but Hugo was finding it hard to concentrate. 

This was fine, wasn’t it? Nothing out of the usual.

He looked over at Scorpius, with his high collar turned up against the wind and his ridiculous cheekbones, blond hair styled back in a way that usually made him look severe and a bit unapproachable. Today it had softened a bit, falling over his forehead and wisping out a bit behind the curve of his ears. Hugo wondered if it was just a bit of friendly banter to think Scorpius looked better when his hair wasn’t so perfectly in place, or to want to mess it up a bit for him. 

Yeah, no, this was not the usual. 

“Alright, Hugo?” Scorpius asked, and Hugo jolted a bit. They had stopped at the corner of the high street and Cornmarket, a wide pedestrian road that was packed with students on their way to or from class. He hadn’t even noticed how far they had walked. 

“Yeah,” he replied, though he wasn’t quite sure what Scorpius had been talking about. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Scorpius looked at him solemnly, his grey eyes steady on Hugo’s face. “You’re alright with just having green juice for lunch? Perhaps we can do the cleanse together.”

Hugo felt as if Scorpius had suddenly started speaking another language. “Do the what?” he asked, thoroughly confused. 

“The cleanse.”

“Cleanse what?”

“To cleanse the body of the toxins,” Scorpius replied, “Muggle fast food and fizzy drinks are really bad for you, and Honeydukes chocolates are probably even worse. Just full of crap that’s going to kill you before you’re 25.” 

Hugo stared at him. Scorpius sounded and looked dead serious, but Hugo caught the smirk at the corner of his mouth and that gave it away. 

“Oi, piss off,” Hugo laughed, pushing at Scorpius’ shoulder. “You would never consume something so healthy of your own free will.” 

Scorpius let himself be pushed with a laugh that made Hugo’s heart squeeze in his chest. 

“Thank you, that’s very flattering,” Scorpius said dryly, as he reached out and wrapped a hand around Hugo’s upper arm. With a tug, he pulled Hugo along the road, directing them to a side lane down which their regular pub was located. 

“That’s what you get for not paying attention when someone else is talking,” Scorpius said, his body warm up against Hugo’s side as they walked. He was no longer directing Hugo where to go, but his hand remained cupped around Hugo’s arm and it was greatly distracting. “Next thing you know, you’ll have agreed to do all of Nimbus’ nightly walks this winter. And I won’t let you get out of it, this time.”

“You’re impossible,” Hugo grumbled, “but I’d do it, for her.”

Scorpius shook his head, and huffed out a laugh. “You’ll be the first person I’ll ring, then, when it’s half three in the morning and snowing buckets.”

“See to it that I am,” Hugo said, and meant it.

\--

If Hugo thought it would get it from easier from there, now that he knew what was going on-- he _got it_ , alright, he could let it go-- it most emphatically did not. The more time he spent with Scorpius, the harder it was to ignore the way his skin seemed to thrum with electricity when their hands brushed as they exchanged their notes, or how Hugo found himself staring at the elegant slope of Scorpius’ nose and the plush fall of his lips beneath, when he should have been paying attention to his essays. 

Scorpius didn’t seem to notice any difference, quick with his usual small smile or dry comment, his casual touches as they walked down the street or sat together in the library, helping each other with translations and pointing out flaws in the other’s argument. 

It had been a very stressful three weeks by the time Hugo found himself in the deathly quiet wizarding archives on the last Saturday of term, ten minutes before closing, at a very tense detente with Cassandra. 

He unclenched his jaw from where it seemed to be wanting to fuse to his temporal bone, trying to keep his voice calm as he repeated, “All I need is the copy of _Bisclavret_ from 1765 printed by Demain  & Devreaux of Paris. The untranslated version. Please.”

Cassandra looked placidly back at him, then shrugged. “Get it from Kindle.”

Hugo had to stop himself from making a very undignified sound, and instead clenched his hands into such tight fists he could feel his fingernails digging sharply into his palms. He honestly hadn’t counted on Cassandra being the one to tend the desk on Saturdays, she didn’t usually work on weekends, but he was sure he could hear his mother somewhere saying, “This is why we don’t wait until the last minute for things, Hugo.”

“I can’t get it from Kindle,” Hugo grit out, “given that it was printed in _1765\. In Old French._ ”

“Oh, well, that sucks,” Cassandra replied flatly. “Try Amazon.”

“Merlin’s beard! _Amazon owns Kin--_ ,” Hugo cut himself off and tried to remain calm. It was going to be a lot harder if his war with Cassandra went from cold to hot and she actually hexed him right out of the archives. “Look, I’m really sorry I almost got you crushed that one time, alright? It was an accident. I apologise. I apologised then, but I’m apologising again, right now.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. “Fine, fuck if I care. But I’m telling you that we don’t have it right now.”

“My professor told me specifically--”

“No, you don’t understand,” Cassandra interrupted him, “we don’t have it right now because someone has already checked it out.”

Hugo, mouth open to finish his argument, paused. Defeat rocketed through him. If he didn’t have that book by Monday to finish his essay for Professor Otieno, he was fucked. “What?”

“Someone already checked out that book, earlier today. I was the one who found it for him.”

Hugo pressed himself closer to the desk, trying to read the names of the people who had signed out books from the huge Archives ledger in front of Cassandra. She gathered what he was doing and flipped the ancient leather-backed tome shut.

“Who was it?” Hugo asked.

Cassandra looked at him consideringly. “I’m not supposed to give out that information.”

“Why not? It’s not exactly their birthdate or home address. What book someone checked out is not something very interesting to a criminal organisation, ‘m fairly sure.”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow. “I’m still not supposed to give out that information.” 

She let the sentence trail off significantly.

“But?” Hugo asked, hope lifting some of the terrible weight that had begun to pull at his lungs. “You might be persuaded otherwise?”

\--

Hugo felt the horrible twisting pressure of Apparition lift and he was suddenly standing in front of a small Tudor-style house on a quiet street, breathing heavily. It was alright. He’d had to promise a very small fortune in Chocolate Frog cards (and somehow get his mum, dad, and Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny to sign their various faces) to Cassandra. 

Then he had to somehow explain to Louis why exactly he needed to know where Scorpius lived at 9pm on a Saturday night and no, it was not to avenge the crimes Scorpius’ forefathers had committed against Hugo’s family, truly. Louis really needed to stop reading so much Shakespeare if he thought everyone still solved their problems by blood duels or resorting to elaborate subterfuge. 

So it was nearly 10PM by the time he jogged up Scorpius’, or what he hoped was Scorpius’, front steps and rang the bell. It had been maddening to realise that not only did he not know where Scorpius lived, but he also didn’t have Scorpius’ mobile number-- they were so often together that it had seemed redundant in some way to ask for it, especially when Scorpius had never expressed interest in Hugo’s. 

There was a long moment of silence before far-off footsteps and a loud clatter sounded behind the door, and it swung open. 

“Hugo.” Scorpius stood on the other side, looking very disheveled, but at least it really was his house. He seemed surprised to see Hugo at first, before his face softened to a pleased smile. 

Relief spread visibly through Hugo. “Oh, good, it’s you,” he said and charged inside without waiting for Scorpius to respond or get out of the way. Their shoulders collided, spinning them both around. “I honestly thought I might’ve got the wrong address.”

Confusion was clear across Scorpius’ expression as he turned to shut the front door then reached out and steadied Hugo with two warm, firm hands, pulling him to a stop. For a second Hugo felt incredibly tense, all his anxieties swirling around his head like incredibly persistent Doxies. But Scorpius kept hold of him, hands clasped over the curve of his shoulders, thumbs pressing into the delicate hollow above his collarbones. 

Behind the glass of his spectacles, his eyes were concerned. “Are you alright, Hugo?”

It was as if all Hugo’s strings were cut at once. He slumped against the wall, surprised when Scorpius kept his hands on Hugo’s shoulders and stepped closer to follow him, but too tired to fully appreciate it. 

“Honestly? Not really,” Hugo replied, wanting nothing more than to fall forward onto Scorpius’ ridiculously comfortable jumper and stay there in the warmth forever. Scorpius was probably bony as hell, but even now, with his hair held back from his face by an honest-to-goodness headband and looking just as exhausted as Hugo felt, his presence alone was enough to begin to ease the tension trying to make a Christmas bow out of Hugo’s insides. A hug might cure him entirely. 

Scorpius smiled, squeezing Hugo’s shoulders with his big hands in a gesture that was probably meant to calm him, but instead made his heart skitter like he’d been touched with a live wire. “Let’s get you some tea, yeah?”

Hugo didn’t necessarily think tea was going to solve all of his problems, but he dutifully peeled himself from the wall and followed Scorpius down the hall to the cramped but bright living room. As Scorpius left him on the couch and went to the kitchen to make some tea, Nimbus appeared and jumped up on his lap. As if instinctively knowing he needed comfort, or perhaps she was just as tired as he, she spread herself over his lap and contented herself with lazily licking the side of his hand as he petted her. 

By the time Scorpius came back with two mugs of tea and a plate of biscuits, Hugo was already feeling miles better. Nimbus jumped off his lap and trotted over to make herself comfortable at her master’s feet. Scorpius set the mugs down and sat down next to Hugo on the couch, close enough that their knees knocked each other. He was still wearing that ridiculous headband. 

“Where did you get this?” Hugo asked, reaching up to touch the black band cutting over the top of Scorpius’ head. As he pulled away, his fingers brushed Scorpius’ hair by accident. Hugo was surprised at how soft it felt against his skin. If Scorpius didn’t always style it back, it’d probably frame his face and change his look entirely. 

Scorpius reached up and touched the headband as if he had forgotten it was even there. He laughed a bit abashedly, his cheeks pinking. “It was my landlady’s, she forgot it here a couple weeks ago. Keeps my hair back when I’m revising.” 

He picked at it as if he were about to take it off, but Hugo grabbed his hand before he could. “Leave it, I didn’t mean it like that. It looks good.”

Scorpius gave him a disbelieving look, though it was tempered by good humour. “If you say so,” he said and dropped his hand, though he didn’t pull away from Hugo.

“I do say so,” Hugo mumbled, hand still curved around Scorpius’. Now that he was in Scorpius’ warm living room, sitting next to him on the couch, he was reluctant to move away. And it was true: even in striped pajama bottoms and a soft blue jumper, his hair pinned back and his glasses slipping down his nose, Scorpius looked good, at least to Hugo. 

Scorpius shrugged slightly and leaned back into the couch cushions with a quiet sigh. Their shoulders pressed together as they sat next to each other in silence for a while, Hugo’s right hand clasped loosely around Scorpius’ left. The longer he sat, the calmer it seemed to make him. 

“Hugo?”

“Hmm?” Hugo turned his head to look up at Scorpius, who was actually a lot closer than he originally thought. This close, he could see the dusky fall of Scorpius’ eyelashes as they swept over his cheeks, and the blue shadows in his eyes. 

Scorpius bit his lip, a small furrow appearing between his brows. “Why are you here?” he asked, voice very quiet. 

For a long moment, Hugo honestly forgot. His hand tightened reflexively on Scorpius’ as he tried to remember, but in the warmth of the room and the soft rise and fall of Scorpius’ chest as he breathed next to him, the reasons slipped away. It didn’t seem to matter why he was here, just that he was.

He realised Scorpius was looking at him closely, and hadn’t moved away. Hugo felt something draw him forward, like someone had curled a hand around the lapel of his jacket and pulled. His heartbeat felt ridiculously fast in his chest, like he was racing down the Quidditch pitch at full speed and just about to crash into the crowd or down onto the pitch. 

Hugo leaned closer, his left hand reaching up to cup the soft, hot slope of Scorpius’ neck. His fingers curled into the silky fall of his hair as he pulled Scorpius close to him and brushed their lips together in a chaste kiss. Hugo felt as if electricity had sparked straight down his spine from where Scorpius’ lips were pressed to his. 

He pulled back an inch, feeling his hands trembling and not sure where to go from here. Scorpius’ eyes were closed, his expression blurry from the closeness. But his neck was incredibly stiff underneath Hugo’s touch, and his other hand was clenched into a fist. He hadn’t really moved at all during the kiss, as if holding himself tightly in place. 

An awkward bolt of realisation arced hotly through Hugo’s chest, and he jerked back. _Fuck._ With a sharp breath, he sat up. 

Scorpius opened his eyes, his expression unreadable. 

Hugo looked at him, trying to find the right words but failing. He said the first thing that came to mind, which was probably a mistake. “I’m sorry,” he croaked, his voice struggling to work. 

Scorpius stared at him before frowning, which was not an encouraging sign. He sat up stiffly, bringing his clenched hands together in his lap. “Don’t worry about it.” His face was as red as Hugo had ever seen it.

Hugo felt himself wince and sat up as well. They sat for another moment in excruciating silence before Hugo forced himself to stand, grabbing his bag from where he had dropped it next to the couch.

Scorpius stood as well. He looked incredibly awkward, which Hugo thought would have been endearing if Hugo wasn’t currently undergoing what was possibly the second most embarrassing moment of his life. He had never kissed anyone before that hadn’t wanted to be kissed, and the thought that he had done so to Scorpius made his heart twist.

“I should go,” Hugo said, and Scorpius gave a little nod that drove a shard of ice through his chest. 

Scorpius led him to the door, which was a courtesy Hugo honestly could have done without. But Scorpius seemed intent on it, and Hugo wasn’t exactly in a place to argue. 

When he had opened the door and Hugo was just about to step out, Scorpius placed a hand tentatively on Hugo’s shoulder. He looked just about as pained as Hugo felt. 

“Uh,” Scorpius started, unable to meet Hugo’s eyes. He patted Hugo’s shoulder once. “Bye.”

“Bye,” Hugo replied quietly, ready to go home and collapse face-first onto his bed. 

He turned and stepped out into the winter air, his feet automatically taking him along the path to the road. It was so cold his nose felt like it was burning, and his eyes too, but Hugo blinked a couple of times, and the feeling faded. 

Behind him, a door snapped shut. 

\-- 

Professor Otieno hmmed thoughtfully and flipped to the next page in the essay, his face blank. Hugo stared impatiently at the back of the papers and resisted the urge to squirm. 

There was little torture just as fine as having your final weekly essay of the term judged as one sat there and tried to read every eyebrow raise and twitch of the lips. It didn’t help that it had taken the combined effects of four cups of PG Tips and all of Hugo’s raw determination to finish the essay at all, much less refine it as much as he usually liked. He felt as though his guts themselves were being picked over and he didn't think they'd merit more than a 2:2, which would be unacceptable. 

Through the weeks Hugo had known him, it had become clear that Professor Otieno had developed a blank expression into a veritable art.

After another agonizing minute of contemplation, Professor Otieno flipped the packet closed and dropped it onto his desk. He interlaced his hands and leaned forward over the desk, and Hugo's heart caught in his throat as his tutor fixed him with a sharp gaze over his spectacles.

"It's very good, Mr. Granger-Weasley. Going in the right direction for your final project, I think. I’m impressed."

Hugo couldn't help the smile that spread over his cheeks as relief rushed through him. 

“However,” and here's where Hugo's heart dropped, “there’s something I'd like to propose to you.”

“What?” Hugo asked, his voice gone a little high. He felt as though he'd been dropped ten stories, then caught unexpectedly with a bungee cord. “I mean, yes?”

Amusement glimmered in Professor Otieno’s expression. “It's nothing bad, I assure you. It just has become clear to me that you and another student of mine are interested in similar sources. Your points of view are a bit different, perhaps, but I think you’d both benefit from each other’s perspectives. I was wondering if perhaps you'd have an interest in working together with him on some projects and essays this year.” 

That was so far from what Hugo thought Professor Otieno might say, he almost couldn't understand it. Hugo opened his mouth but found he wasn't sure what to say. “Erm,” he began, then stopped.

Professor Otieno chuckled, the smooth brown skin of his cheeks dimpling in a way that always completely obliterated his first impression of strictness. 

“I'd be happy to guide your joint efforts, of course. It's an area that is of particular interest to me as well and might become the subject of future paper, one that we might all work on together.”

“Can I ask you--” Hugo started, before stopping himself. Did it really matter who it was?

Professor Otieno seemed to know what question he wanted to ask, regardless. “Who the other student would be?”

“Yeah,” Hugo replied, a bit weakly. 

“It’s another student in your course, I’m sure you know him. Scorpius Malfoy.”

Hugo’s mind whirled helplessly for an answer. He wanted to work on something _together_? It wasn’t something Hugo would turn down, but the potential for it to be incredibly awkward was stratospheric. Professor Otieno put up a hand. 

“Don't worry. You don't need to tell me your answer now. Just think about it, and you can let me know when you get back from winter holidays. That’s the soonest we’d get started on anything together, anyways.”

\--

Hugo was fairly certain he only made it through the next week because he barely slept, which leant both his waking and sleeping hours with an equally dream-like quality. Scorpius, uncharacteristically, did not show up for lecture on Monday morning, and spent the majority of Tuesday’s seminar very quiet, his pale face more peaky than usual. Hugo tried to talk to him, but they both seemed awkward, and he couldn’t think of anything to say. 

By the time he finally slogged through Friday afternoon and collapsed onto the bed in his room, he wanted nothing more than to sleep for 16 hours and hopefully wake up to find the headache that had been plaguing him all week, gone. Of course, that was never to be.

\--

“You are definitely fucked,” Lily said. 

She had appeared at the door to his room earlier that afternoon, took one look at the mess of clothes on his floor and him facedown on his bed, mostly asleep, said “May Merlin himself come and hand me a pair of his saggy Y-fronts himself! It is Friday _night_ , Hugo,” and dragged him out. 

“I am not fucked, Lily. Don’t be defeatist.”

“‘M only telling you what you’re already thinking. Now, hand me my lager, if you please,” she said, wiggling one hand up over the side of the table. 

Hugo pushed the pint into her outstretched hand and watched as she delicately pulled it to her mouth. Though she was lying full-length on the bench of one of the pub’s outdoor tables, she didn't seem too inclined to sit up and drink, which made imbibing anything a bit of a challenge. 

Hugo folded his legs until he was sitting criss-cross on the bench and dipped a finger in his water glass and flicked it at Lily's forehead. “Why won't you just get up?”

Lily pointed one finger at him and the slippery pint glass wobbled dangerously. “We're here to talk about your problems. This is a scientifically-proved method of therapy. Talk therapy. Take it from a Healer-in-training.” She took a big sip and smiled. 

Hugo gave her a tired smile. “For that to work, fairly sure I'm the one to be lying down, not you.”

Lily made a dismissive noise.

“ _Also_ , you said we wouldn't be talking about my problems, we were just here to listen Quidditch on the wireless,” he pointed towards the inside of the pub, at a group of witches and wizards dressed in their opposing team colours. They were crowded around where the wireless actually was. 

“That was obviously a ruse to get you out here, and you know it. You don’t give a single shite about Quidditch,” Lily replied easily. “But alright, if you don't want to talk we don't have to.”

Hugo took a sip of his own butterbeer and tilted his head, pretending to think. He really was too tired to deal with any of this. “I don't want to talk.”

Lily threw her hands into the air. “Fine! We won't talk. About you.” 

She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned up at the fairy lights glowing around the back courtyard of the pub. Under the rise and fall of the conversations of the groups of students around them, they could hear the jumbled voice of the famous Quidditch commentator Lee Jordan before it was lost under a roar of cheers from the listeners inside. 

It was Friday night at the end of term, which, in a place with such a high student population, meant that almost everyone was out for a drink or two and all the pubs were fairly packed. Lily had already scared off two postgrads and one young Spanish wizard from trying to join their table.

“Now _me_ , on the other hand--”

Hugo laughed with whatever energy he had left. “Oh, no, we are not getting into your giant cock up of a love life.”

Lily plowed on, her voice rising above Hugo's. “So I said to the Muggle lad, ‘Alright, darling, I get that you don't understand the concept of bisexuality because of the terrible hole in your heart where your soul is supposed to be, but if you don't get the bloody fuck out of my way I will make sure you--’”

“Talking about your many problems, Lilu?” a familiar voice spoke from over them.

Lily groaned.

“Knew I'd find you lot here, end of term, hogging the very best table of the Badgers’ back garden. Has Pete come back to yell at you yet?”

“Hey, James,” Hugo said and budged over to make room for the lanky frame of his cousin as James thunked down next to him on the bench. “How's life amongst the Arrows?”

“Same as usual, I'm afraid,” James replied with a grin. He had the same black hair and mellow brown skin as his father, and all the easy charm of his mother. On a Quidditch player rumoured to be on the shortlist for the national team when trials began in 2029, and recently voted Witch Weekly’s #1 Young Star to Watch, it was a lethal combination. “Bloody amazing, that is. How are you two poor sods doing in this here backwater town?”

“Fine, I s’pose.”

Lily swung herself into a seated position and stared at her brother. Decades of sibling rivalry crackled behind Lily's glare and James’ friendly smile. 

Hugo just took a huge gulp of his Butterbeer and took a look at his watch. Last time it had only been five minutes before he had to intervene and tonight he honestly didn’t know if he had the energy. 

“Why are you here, Jamie?”

“Just come to see how my favourite sister and our cousin are doing in their first term at uni, making sure you’re still alive and all,” James said casually. His green eyes flickered between the two of them. “By the way, how is the first term of uni going? Still alive?”

“It's fine, James, and in case you’ve taken too many Bludgers to the head and have forgotten, I am your only sister.”

“Sorry, I meant ‘my _only_ sister and our favourite _cousin_ ,’ my mistake.” James laughed and reached out for Lily’s glass of lager, but she snatched it away. “Haven't met the Murderous Monk in the back stacks of the Bods yet? I hear he likes to haunt students who haven't done their coursework.” James raised his eyebrows at Lily. 

Lily scoffed. “Everyone knows that's a myth. Besides, I've been keeping up on my coursework.” She shifted and shot Hugo a warning glare. 

He gave her a knowing look and took another sip of Butterbeer.

“Why are you here, though, James?” he asked. 

James smiled, and it was less cheeky grin and more abashed. A red flush glowed on his cheeks. “Just meeting up with Teds. Got off training early this evening and we're going to grab drinks with a some of his mates from the English faculty. He had to finish up a couple things in his office so I decided to come over here and catch up with you lot--ah, he’s here.”

James had completely lost the cocky Quidditch player attitude as he waved energetically at someone in the crowd. A second later, the recognizable blue-haired head of Teddy Lupin appeared from the throng. 

James popped up from his seat and went to greet him. As soon as Teddy saw him, the sombre expression on his face melted into a smile and he gave James a kiss in greeting, hand lingering on his cheek when he pulled away.

“Hey Lily, Hugo,” Teddy finally acknowledged them. He wrapped one arm around James’ waist. “How goes it?”

“Not as well as it is for you, apparently,” Hugo said, sipping his Butterbeer. The sight of the happy couple was sweet, but made his heart twist a little bit in his chest. 

Teddy winked and James laughed. 

Lily rolled her eyes and threw a chip from the basket on their table at them, but she was smiling. “You guys are so cute, I hate you.”

“You wound me, little sister,” James cried, holding a hand to his heart. “And with that true expression of love, we depart.”

Hugo and Lily called their goodbyes as the couple swung around to go, but James stopped short. 

“Oh! And before I forget, I did have a message for you,” James said, pointing at Lily, before he drew his finger to Hugo, “--two, I guess. Mum is throwing a do for Lucy and Rox when they get back for Christmas hols next week and she has required you, _both_ of you, to attend.”

“Why didn't she tell me this herself?”

James looked deceptively innocent. “Dunno, Lilu, do you maybe not answer her owls?” 

Lily's eye twitched, her lips pressed together.

“Do you happen to have a suspiciously large pile of unopened letters next to your bed like you did at Hogwarts?”

“Maybe,” Lily replied slowly and James grinned. 

“That's why. Anyway, bring as many mates as you like. Gran is cooking, so you know what that means. Last one standing gets first pick of presents. See you then!”

And with that he and Teddy disappeared into the crowd with barely a wave goodbye.

\-- 

Hugo was really not in the mood for a party, especially one that included the whole pack of his cousins, the majority of whom were no longer school-age but still acted it. If two Weasley cousins were already a bit of a crowd, then the assembled mass of cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents and assorted friends that had packed into the Burrow for Roxanne and Lucy’s winter hols party, were a whole army and Hugo was ready to admit defeat.

Instead, he did his best to say hi to all his aunts and uncles, kiss his aging grandfather on the cheek as he dozed in front of the hearth, try to hug his grandmother before she shooed him out of the kitchen, a dozen knives and graters and pots and pans floating around her, making what looked to be a massive feast that Hugo was not at all hungry for.

The Burrow had been dressed up in its usual festive digs, with glinting tinsel, bells that had been charmed to chime out various Christmas carols that wore out as the evening progressed. Holly wreaths hung on the doors and the Christmas tree his father had chopped down for Grandma and Grandad glowed in the corner, almost unrecognizable after the loads of ornaments they had let the littler cousins decorate it with. 

He let Lily get him some hot cocoa (and didn’t let her slip anything into it) and she even stayed with him for a while before realising that he wasn’t going to be very fun company for the night. She had swanned off half an hour ago to join Rose and the younger girls for some Gobstones. 

Hugo sighed, the sounds of the party rising as more drinks got poured and more family members showed up. It was hot in the cramped living room of the Burrow, and far too loud, so no one noticed when Hugo slipped out the back door and into the quiet yard.

Snow had fallen the previous day, leaving a thin cover of white over the dormant garden and the dark hills beyond. It was cold enough to be bracing when Hugo stepped outside, and he wrapped his jumper further around him, but it honestly felt better than it had in the Burrow. 

He crunched around the side of the house, until he was out of sight of anyone looking out the back door, but still within the golden circle of light spread by the sconce next to it. 

Taking a deep breath of the cold, sharp air, he leaned against the wall. Above him, the sky was huge, a black velvet blanket of stars and the glowing sliver of the moon. He probably should have been able to recognise more of the constellations, having taken seven years of Astronomy, but he had never been very interested in it. 

He was just able to identify the archer of Sagittarius when he heard footsteps crunching through the snow. They were coming from the direction of the field beyond the Burrow’s Anti-Apparition wards, and as the footsteps drew nearer, Hugo could distinguish the voices of two people. 

One he recognised almost instantly as the very distinctive lilt of his cousin, Albus. He hadn’t been at the party earlier, which wasn’t too surprising. Albus had a tendency to forget most social occasions unless specifically reminded and over the years, if it wasn’t too important, an invitation would be sent to him with the hope that he would remember, but not much disappointment if he didn’t. 

The other took him another second, but when he recognised it, he felt his heart skip a large beat in his chest. Scorpius was the tall figure next to Albus’ skinny silhouette, stooping slightly as they made their way over the slippery snow. 

Hugo froze, unsure if he should try to go back inside now, or stay where he was. It would be awkward either way, and by the time he had decided, the pair had made it up to the edge of the light at the back door. 

It took them a second to recognise him, Albus being too caught up in telling a story that seemed to involve a large pack of Grindylows that had stolen emergency flares from the Sanctuary’s supply closet and had somehow figured out how to set them off at each other, much to their delight. 

Albus caught sight of Hugo first and cut his story off mid-sentence. “Hugo!”

“Hey.” Hugo waved, his gaze going from Albus to Scorpius, who seemed to be frozen in place. “How's Scotland?”

“Brilliant, you should come visit sometime! Scorpius said he'd come possibly in February. It's the coldest month, so that's when the narwhals come and we can go out onto the ice to watch them.” 

From behind him, Scorpius looked pained, like he couldn't believe he had agreed to visit the Outer Hebrides in February. Hugo couldn't help but agree. He was thinking maybe July, or August. When there would not be huge snowdrifts to fall into and disappear and he was considerably less likely to get frostbite.

“Sounds fun,” Hugo replied, not entirely sure he was convincing. Scorpius’ expression seemed to indicate he didn’t think so. “I'll let you know.”

“Alright,” Albus shrugged, unconcerned. “I'll see you inside, yeah? I have to go say hi to my mum, I didn't reply to my last letter and she always thinks that means I've been eaten by a dragon.”

As soon as his cousin left, Hugo wanted to call out to Scorpius, but he hesitated a second too long and Scorpius slipped inside. 

Hugo sighed, slumping back against the outer wall. The calm that had descended under the night sky had scattered, leaving him even more miserable than before. He had hoped he could have the three weeks before the new term began to wallow in his misery for a bit, then practising his unaffected expression.

It seemed he was just going to have to go wallow somewhere more private, like his dad’s childhood bedroom or give the whole night up for a loss and just go back to Oxford. And his hands were starting to get cold. 

He rubbed them briskly against his thighs then turned to go back inside. Just before he reached the door, though, it swung open and he collided with an emerging Scorpius Malfoy.

“I'm so sorry,” Scorpius said, bouncing back, his cheeks flushed with either the cold or embarrassment. 

“It's okay, don't worry,” Hugo replied automatically, though it didn't feel that way. Scorpius was standing in front of the door so either Hugo would have to ask him to move or push him out of the way. Neither seemed appealing. 

They stood in several long seconds of awkward silence, before they both started to speak at the same time. 

“Hugo, I just wanted--”

“Um, Scorpius can you--”

They both stopped. Scorpius waved at Hugo to continue talking, but Hugo was far more interested in what Scorpius had to say. 

“You wanted?” Hugo began, not wanting to hope for anything. But even having Scorpius say he wanted to remain friends would be better than any disaster scenarios Hugo had been thinking of. Like them never being able to speak again. 

Scorpius cleared his throat. From under the collar of his big coat a sliver of his jumper poked out, in a very recognisable shade of blue. Hugo felt a lump forming in his throat. “I just wanted to explain something,” Scorpius said quietly, “about um, that night.” 

Hugo was sure the confusion showed on his face because Scorpius rushed to continue.

“The night we kissed,” Scorpius clarified, as if there was a different night in question that had been particularly confusing. Although this night might soon qualify. 

Hugo wanted to wave it off, say Scorpius didn't need to explain anything if he didn't want to. But he was clearly had lower senses of self-preservation than most everyone else, because he heard himself saying, “What did you want to explain?”

“Well, really, I wanted to ask you something.”

Hugo nodded, trying to ignore the raw sense of dread finding its way down his spine. Having Scorpius ask him something was very different from Hugo trying to explain something. 

A vulnerable look passed fleetingly over Scorpius’ face. “Was I bad at it?” 

Hugo stared at Scorpius. “Bad at what?”

Scorpius breathed sharply in through his nose and squared his shoulders, as if he were about to enter a duel. His eyes fixed on Hugo. “Was I bad at the kissing? Is that why you stopped?”

Hugo was so completely thrown by the question he felt frozen, and he took too long to respond. 

“Ah, okay. Thanks, for the information.” Scorpius touched the corner of his glasses and pushed them up his reddening face, looking extremely embarrassed. 

Hugo startled and lunged towards Scorpius as he turned to leave. “No, wait, wait, wait,” he said, holding onto Scorpius’ shoulders to keep him from leaving and to support himself on the icy ground. He felt as if his heart had just been restarted in his chest. 

“That's not it.” He huffed out an awkward laugh-- it was oddly difficult to breathe, somehow. “That's really, really not it.” 

Scorpius had stilled in his grip but he looked unconvinced. “The way you're repeating yourself does not inspire confidence,” he said, with a touch of his usual hauteur.

Hugo scowled up at him. “D’you want me to explain or not?”

“Please do,” Scorpius said, his shoulders still incredibly stiff but looking down at him like he couldn't care less what Hugo’s explanation was. 

“Fine,” Hugo said, softening his tone. “It wasn't--you weren't bad at it. It wasn't bad,” At Scorpius’ visible disbelief, he amended, “Alright, it was a bit bad. But not because of you, really.”

“You are terrible at this,” Scorpius muttered. His disbelief had melted into a sombre, defeated expression that Hugo felt like a punch to the heart. 

“Well, you're not exactly helping,” Hugo said, wishing he could smooth the frown marring Scorpius’ brow but not sure it wouldn't just make everything worse. “I'm trying to tell you that it wasn't bad because of anything you did, really. You just seemed like you weren't into it, or me? at all, so I stopped. That's all.” 

“That's all?” Scorpius repeated, voice rising with strange incredulity. “That's what you thought?”

“You hardly moved! And it's not like you said anything as you escorted me to the door. What was I supposed to think?” Hugo raised his eyebrows, irked slightly by Scorpius’ tone. “Is there an alternative explanation you'd like to provide?”

Scorpius blinked and suddenly his hands were gripping Hugo’s waist. He pulled Hugo forward a half-step until they were nearly embracing. Hugo could feel the warmth of him all up his front. Half the breath seemed to go out of Hugo’s chest in a rush, and his cheeks felt like they were burning in the cold air.

“Yes, Hugo,” Scorpius said lowly, looking very serious. Hugo's heart had started beating so hard he was sure Scorpius could feel it where their chests were pressed together. “Some of us don't have much experience in this area and are perhaps a bit slow on realising precisely why the person they fancy shows up on their doorstep to snog them at 10 o’clock at night, so I apologise if you got the wrong impression.”

“Wrong impression?” Hugo repeated, trying to get words out in a comprehensible manner when Scorpius had just said he fancied him. 

That fact alone was enough to make his head swim. Add in the fact that Scorpius really just didn't have much experience with romance but was still probably better at it than Hugo, who had been ready to accept Scorpius’ initial silence without at least trying to straighten things out, and Hugo was overwhelmed.

It was very difficult to concentrate with Scorpius’ face so close to his, grey eyes dark and wanting, and yes, Scorpius had said he liked him, this was alright. Hugo leaned in until their cheeks brushed, laughing a little when their glasses bumped. He felt his heart squeeze tight in happiness.

“I definitely got the wrong impression of you, Scorpius.”

“Guess we'll have to work on getting that sorted, then,” Scorpius replied, a smile on his lips as he leaned in to kiss Hugo.

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You can show your appreciation for the author in a comment here or on [livejournal](https://hp-nextgen-fest.livejournal.com/119272.html).


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